Mercy
by SchroederFactor
Summary: Regina is the queen of an unknown kingdom. Emma is a soldier who fights for the queen's enemies. Swan Queen. Lot of made up stuff. Status: In Progress
1. Chapter 1: The Savior

**The Savior**

* * *

The Great Hall stretched majestically tall.  
Windows as high as the walls stood as guards with gray, glassy and severe eyes, watching any shadow laid motionless in that sacred place. The light was not welcome.

The ambiguity of a cold twilight, rather; and this twilight deprived the long carpet of its scarlet colour, transforming it into a dark red path that divided the room in its exact middle, for its entire length.

At the end of it was the huge throne of stone - with a variety of shapes and bas-reliefs carved on its surface: growling lion's heads on its arms, soldiers coming out of the stone to pierce the enemy with spears, the shape of a huge sun with intricate rays, on top of the backrest.  
On the throne, at the end of this dark tunnel of a hall, sat the Queen.  
Her head was bent while she was busy reading the long letter she was holding in her hands. Only two candles were burning on top of tall candlesticks, one at each side of the seat.

She raised her head and leaned it back on the purple pillow of the backrest. She stared at the words on the paper, her black eyes barely open.

Her face was a still, cold and pale mask; but at the bottom of her irises there was this spark of intense concentration, manic, almost – much as the lightning in a leaden sky, when the storm is ready to lash out.

She twisted her mouth into a grimace of disgust, and threw contemptibly the paper to the ground. Her hand closed angrily into a fist. Fuck.

The Legion's army had crossed the river.

They had been chased away less than a week before; they had feigned a retreat; they went back on the other side of the water, and had even marched deep into the Forests in order to deceive the scouts she had sent after them - and when the scouts returned to communicate the enemy's final escape, they had ridden, retracing their steps, in haste and without rest for a whole night and had crossed the border when the new day was not born yet.

And now they were burning villages on the banks.

She passed a hand through her black hair, her nails drowning into dark waves. She looked at the huge, empty twilight in front of her.

That cold and wet grave, as if emptied from some sacred spoils that it should have guarded forever, as if desecrated by some blasphemous and barbarous people who had broken its silence after centuries of immobility... And such barbarous people had invaded her kingdom, now.

The one that had crossed the Great River was only a fraction of the Legion; about a thousand units. Cavalry was a substantial part of it - fast and deadly. It wasn't going to take many days for them to penetrate further into the valley.

So what was she supposed to do? On the opposite side of the river, the bulk of their army was waiting in three huge camps – so her spies had told her - arranged in a triangular formation, at the bottom of the Rocky Mountains.

Waiting for her to make a move. Waiting for her to make a mistake; for her to unbalance her own forces in a rash decision, perhaps dictated by panic.

And then, they would immediately attack her on her weakest side. A grimace of disgust and ridicule folded the corners of her mouth. This, this she would not let happen.  
Her voice thundered breaking the silence of the room. "Raeel!"  
A few seconds passed. Then, massive wooden double doors opened down the hall, on the opposite side of the throne. A figure slipped through the weak lighted gap that had opened, closed the door behind it, and quickly went through the path in the middle of the room. His footsteps echoed on the hugely tall arch and roof. When he found himself in front her, he bowed before the throne, one knee on the ground. "My Queen."  
His gray eyes looked unsure at her. She glared at him with her dark eyes, from above.  
"Raeel, why is it that the Captain has not yet come to talk to me?" Her voice was deep, raspy, full of irritated impatience.  
"My Queen, the Captain has not yet returned from patrolling the ford East of the valley."  
"A whole morning seems more than enough for such a patrol" she growled slowly, as if she blamed the man in front of her for the Captain's delay.  
"My Queen ..."  
"Call the council." She cut him off sharply. "I cannot wait forever. We must send a counter-offensive as soon as possible - and cut the throats of those infidels. " Her voice sounded terribly disturbed by a disgust - one would have said - almost visceral.

As she said those words her features stiffened, almost as if they were carved in stone.

She turned her head, looking at the cold glass of one of the tall windows, as if she was afraid of burning something just by staring at it for too long.

She struggled immensely to control the anger that tormented her - her breathing was heavy and fast, as could be seen from the unnaturally rapid rising and falling of her chest, below the black dress.  
She had been fooled; she felt so confident, she let down her guard. And now those damned mercenaries had invaded her border.  
"Yes, my Queen." Raeel murmured softly, then stood up and, almost running, returned to the door and then close it behind him.

The queen squeezed with her hands the throne's white stone arms. Her long fingers slipped between the jaws of the carved lions with gaping mouths that decorated the seat.  
She had always thought that this war would have been her life's crusade; her great pride and her big victory, the act that would be remembered in the history of the continent, in the history of the world.

Getting rid of the infidels had been the campaign of the reign of her mother before her; and that of the kingdom of her grandfather, even before.

But none of her ancestors had had the strength - or the total devotion to the cause, the full, passionate ambition – that she had.

No one before her had managed to repress the Legion so far inland as did the army under her command. The bloody conflict dragged on, now - between short interruptions and frequent carnage - for almost a decade.

Yet, in recent times, the Legion had found a way to move forward again; they had broken her lines beyond the river, on their side, and she had been forced to withdraw a large portion of her army. How this could have happened, none of her officers, ambassadors (nor, for that matter, herself, who was a strategist) had been able to clearly explain.

All that her spies had managed to find out, was that recent years victories were due, it seemed, to a military reorganization of the Legion.

New officers were placed in command of the legionary fractions, and one of them in particular had been able to raise the morale of the people beyond the Great River; one of them, more than anyone else, stood out for his victories.

All she knew about him were just rumors - some so ridiculous to be thought nothing more than popular legends.

What was clear with no doubt, was that he had become a symbol for the enemy's nation; and in this, more than in his military skills, was the danger.

Because a leader could always be killed: but his image as a liberator, as someone able to bend the Queen's army... the hope he gave to those miserable bastards, how could she take that out of their minds, and crush their souls?

Oh, her spies had even told her that this warlord was called "The Savior" by common people. A bitter and cruel laughter broke out of her scarlet mouth, not a trace of joy in it. Ridiculous. More than anything else, at that moment, she wanted the head of this "savior" on a pike.  
She slowly stood up from the throne. Her curvy figure wrapped in black stood out against the white marble. Her very flesh and skin looked like marble, where the curves of black hair leaned on her shoulders. It was time to go to the Council.

The fraction of the Legion that had overstepped the boundaries was not large, and it sure was conducted by some impertinent, ambitious young officer who only wanted to impress the commanders. For no experienced soldier would dare such an enterprise as to invade the enemy's territory, with a force so thin and so isolated from the main troops.

Their corpses were going to be food to the vultures by sunset, of that she was sure.

* * *

The boardroom was a narrow room with a high ceiling, decorated with a painted sky full of nocturnal demons; their lifeless eyes were turned towards the center of the room, as if they were a warning to those who sat around the large wooden table: "your sins will not remain unpunished, your tyranny will not go unnoticed, the decisions you make here and now will not be without consequences." , they seemed to whisper.

But who ever looked at such a high ceiling? The black eyes of the queen moved on from face to face, looking at the counselors who sat with her. All of them had dark, serious faces.

No one dared to look back at her. In their midst was a map that covered the entire surface of the table, a pile of papers, ink, letters. The men and women who surrounded her were murmuring among themselves.

Ser Klaus, to her right, leaned a little towards her, and murmured from under his short black mustache.

_"Your Majesty, I agree, it would be very wise to send at least a thousand men against the Legion. But to pick them up from the West garrison... " _he moaned, shaking his head in disapproval.

Ser Jorge intervened from on the other side of the table. _"And from where should we pick them up? From the East? The east side needs to be strengthened, rather; there are too many fords in that direction. And no city with strong walls to defend them. This night-crossing of them, Your Majesty, might be just a distraction to divert attention from a much bigger army coming our way ... ". _  
He fall into silence when the Queen opened her mouth, raising a hand towards him as to shut him up.

_"You think I don't know that? We do not have enough time, my dear Jorge, to send a larger army from the capital towards the invaders, nor to send troops from the West. There is an entire marshland that separates them from the valley; they would never make it in time. It's pointless." _

Her penetrating gaze seemed wanting to stab him as she spoke in a firm and cold tone, displaying a patience that seemed on the verge of collapse.

As if he - and everyone else - were children unable to understand the most basic things. "_We'll send men from the East. In the meantime, the troops will begin to march from here to replace them; we'll triplicate the number of soldiers in that direction. And I want an advanced guard in both East and West. But we need an immediate counterattack. "_

She emphasized the last words, as they were her decisive verdict. She leaned back in her chair with a sigh. At that moment Raeel stood next to her, leaning forward. _"The Captain is back, my Queen." _  
_"Send him here immediately,"_ she said.  
Raeel opened the door to let in a tall man in a silver armor, with a big bald head. His wrinkled and scarred face was hardened and burnt by the merciless sun.  
He bowed briefly. _"Your Majesty." _  
_"What news do you bring us?" _  
The Captain's armor clanged. _"I can confirm what was seen by the first scouts. It's an army of about one thousand units. A third of it is cavalry. They stopped at the valley's mouth, for the moment. "_ There seemed to be some discomfort in the soldier, because his armor clanged and clanged metallically as he continuously changed his posture.

He looked at the queen in her face, but he couldn't dare to look her in the eyes. That was too much to bear even for a war veteran.

She lowered her head a little and raised an eyebrow almost sarcastically; it was clear that there were also other news. The soldier's procrastination was unnerving _"And... ?"_.  
_"The enemies carried a very particular banner, your Majesty._" He finally resumed. _"We have reason to believe that their leader is the Savior." _  
A sudden silence fell. The queen left her lips parted, a startled and speechless expression on her face, her black eyes widened. Around her, the same disconcert was painted on the old faces of the councilors.  
_"The Savior ...?"_ Murmured the queen, lowering her head and staring with menacing eyes at the Captain; that sound was more a low growl than a human voice. Her eyes sparkled under the sculpted eyebrows. Then the anger came out all at once.

_"The Savior!?"_ She yelled, jumping up to the soldier. He did not move, but pointed his gaze to the ground. The advisers shrank and stiffened on their seats.

The queen raised an accusing finger at the man in armor. The long black skirt dragged on the ground, when she approached the soldier to face him, her white teeth gritted.

It was unclear whether that was a bitter smile or a look of disgust.  
_"How is that possible? You let this "savior" cross the border? What kind of useless, helpless, miserable, coward leader would ever do such a thing? "_ Every word was spat on the humbly bowed face of the Captain, as if it was poison from her depths. That invasion was certainly not his fault – but she didn't seem to mind any of that. She just needed to scream and break something or someone.

The queen withdrew her hand pointing towards the knight, and walked away in disgust, distancing her face from his. She closed her eyes and clenched her mouth as if to calm down. She took several deep breaths.  
_"This is what we'll do,"_ she announced finally, her voice suddenly calm and cold. As she spoke, she began making sweeping gestures with her arm, pointing with her skinny hand and palm open upwards at all of her advisers.

_"You, Captain, shall gather a force of two thousand men. You will directly face the enemy's army; by nightfall you shall be at their camp, with a decent handful of soldiers." _

She looked at him, raising an eyebrow and frowning her forehead slightly. Her red lips bent in a sarcastic grin, as if she was explaining something to a child.

And her first anger had now fermented into sloth.

_"You will charge them in the darkness, tonight. This will give me time to prepare and send troops from the capital."_ She stepped closer to the soldier.

He kept his face down, his bald head glistened with sweat. _"Was I clear enough? Is there something too difficult to understand? Do I need to make a simplification for you idiots? ". _  
_"No, your Majesty." _  
_"Good."_ She hissed between her teeth. She turned her back on him and, without looking at him, with an indifferent gesture of the hand stirred the air and dismissed him. _"Go on, then." _  
_"My Queen."_ Muttered the Captain, rigid, and with an annoying squeaking metal sound left the room.  
The queen placed both hands on the table, bending her torso impatiently. Her black eyes stared grimly at the faces of the council members, one by one.

There was a strange light in them, angry and vivid. _"It's time to move."_

* * *

The night had fallen.  
The queen was watching, from above, the burning torches of the enemy's camp. Everything was silent. A slight wind, some night birds, nothing more.

All suspiciously quiet.

Her men, in black armors, were already gone down the slope toward the mouth of the valley. There they were, surrounding now the motionless camp. Suspiciously motionless.

She arched an eyebrow and her forehead furrowed a little. Her long black hair was tied in an intricate tail, her lips dyed purple. She rode a dark, massive stallion.

The Captain gave the attack signal. Her soldiers entered the camp; from such a distance they seemed a bunch of flies.

They walked among the tents, destroyed them, dismounted them; without finding a living soul. The enemy's camp was empty, despite the fact that all the fires were lit. It was empty, of course. But this… she had expected this.  
A scream suddenly burst into the night.

At that moment, from behind the low hills that surrounded the camp, the Legion's cavalry emerged from the darkness and charged ravenously on the black soldiers.

Most of the Legionnaires rode on horsebacks; those of the queen were mainly infantry soldiers. When the first sound of a metallic collision was heard, a violent battle began.

The knights slaughtered the men on foot; the men on foot, on the other hand, were striking down horses with spears and throwing themselves on the fallen Legionnaires.  
The queen's expression was still: her black eyes were evaluating, they were calculating. It seemed that none of the enemy's soldiers thought of asking themselves where was her cavalry; they were too busy killing people like animals fallen into their trap.

Or at least, what they thought was a clever trap. She stretched out an arm covered by a light black armor, and with a hand gesture called over an officer, who approached her immediately. "It 's time."

She said to him in a dry tone, without taking her eyes away from the battle. He nodded, and retreated his horse into the bushes.  
Now that the enemy had concentrated around the field and was distracted by the battle, the real surprise could begin.

Her eyes found her Captain's banner - which was also that of her own army – a big tree with roots as wide as its branches.

She recognized him from his large stature, even if the helmet covered his bald head, and because he was the only one among her soldiers to have a silver armor instead of a black one.

Then something else caught her attention.

A knight on a white steed charged on her Captain. His armor was almost golden.

Even from that distance, one could see he had an unexpectedly slender figure for a war veteran.

His movements, his landing from his horse and wielding a long sword, had an extraordinary agility and security.

He was quick in both dodging and hitting, as he proved the moment he engaged in battle with the much larger queen's official. He made the latter look like a giant by comparison.

The Legion's soldier had a helmet that covered his face. On the sides of the helmet were two golden wings, and two wings were also carved on his chest armor.  
That, the queen suddenly realized, had to be the Savior.  
Since that moment, she did not took her eyes off the duel.

The captain struck with force and precision; but the Savior's game was very atypical.

His relatively low height allowed him to skilfully dodge every shot. He seemed to dance effortlessly, it was absurd.

A couple of times he deflected with his sword lethal blows; the weapon of her officer seemed to slip on the Legionnaires as if on ice, seemingly failing every stroke without the slightest use of force on the part of the enemy.

This strange dance continued for a bit. But while the Captain's movements became increasingly slow and fatigued, those of the Savior, astonishingly, did not diminished in pace.

The Captain, on the limits of his patience and endurance, tried then a powerful sword stroke from above, grabbing the hilt with both of his strong hands.

With a flick to the side the Savior dodged the blow: the heavy blade stuck in the ground.  
It was just a moment.  
The Legionnaire (with a skill that she would never have believed possible for someone in armor), while the Captain was raising his sword from the ground, put a foot on his enemy's blade and used it as a lever for an almost feline jump.

The sharp end of his sword pointed straight at the throat of her officer.

It pierced through it, coming out on the other side. Even from the top of the hill on which she stood, she saw the blood covering her Captain's silver armor.

He remained motionless for some seconds, stuck in this point and position by his death, and when the Savior drew his sword out from his flesh, he fell to the ground.  
The queen was stunned by the speed of what had happened.

What she had just seen was still trying to make its way into her brain. Her eyes were wide and her lips parted.

Then, a vague expression of horror began to take possession of her face. She became so very pale. Her mouth trembled.

She had never been so angry in her entire life as she was now; so furious that she wanted to cry with rage.

The lifeless body of her Captain laid on the battlefield, the slender figure of the Savior already passing into the next battle.  
There wasn't much time for her anger, however. For, finally, her black cavalry had emerged from the trees, attacking the camp from every direction, closing the Legion's soldiers into a lethal circle.

And then it was clear that the battle would not last longer.

Some hours later, indeed, the fighting had died down.

The dawn rose with its first rays of light. The queen and her retinue of guards were headed towards the tents erected by her victorious army, in place of the camp that was occupied by the enemy.

The wounded were groaning and the dead were being collected.

On a stretcher, his face covered with a cloth, was laid her Captain's corpse; the bronze shield with the engraved tree was resting on his chest.

She stopped for a moment, watching the body, her gaze emotionless. A morning breeze swelled the long black cloak that covered her shoulders.

The corners of her mouth curled downward. She raised her head and moved along.

She arrived in front of a rather large tent and turned to the high commander who was waiting for her.

_"Is he able to speak?" _Her voice dry and hoarse, a little trembling. She did not look him in the face.  
_"I suppose. He has not said a word, and has resisted all attempts to remove his armor. "  
"I want to see him now."  
"Yes, Your Majesty." _

He pulled back the flap of the tent and made her enter.

It was dark inside; when her eyes adjusted she saw that a wooden column was planted the middle of the tent, and bounded with chains to the column, his hands behind his back, was the captured Savior.  
He sat on the ground; they had taken the breastplate off of him, but he was still wearing his winged helmet.

Now that she was able to see him so closely, the queen realized that his body was with no doubt much more slender than that of a typical soldier.  
She walked around him in silence for a moment, observing.

She tilted her head a little to one side and a venomous smile appeared on her lips.

_"Your reputation is well earned soldier. I've seen how you killed one of my best men."_ She smiled coldly and without any joy.

No reply.

He stood motionless, his head inside the helmet bowed. She clasped her hands and held them on her lap.  
_"You know what I do to dogs like you? I like to put them in front of an audience and have them tortured in horrific ways. Ways that you dare not even imagine." _

She growled in a low tone, pronouncing each word slowly.

_"But you, oh, you'll have a very special treatment. You'll be tortured for my own pleasure, for the soldiers that you killed, for the borders - my borders! – that you have invaded. You, you will pay a heavy price ..." _Now she was yelling, her face was red and her voice trembled with anger. Suddenly, with rapid steps, she went beside him.

Her hands clenched like claws on the metal wings that sprouted from the helmet and pulled hard. The Savior did not put up any resistance. She took off his helmet and threw it away with fury.

And then, she froze on the spot.  
As she had taken off the helmet, a cascade of long blonde hair was suddenly released.

Two large green eyes were staring at her from under long lashes; a battle-scarred face, yet incredibly delicate.

She was looking at a woman.


	2. Chapter 2: Something dark is coming

**Sorry it took me so long to write this second chapter. Hope you enjoy!**

**Something dark is coming**

* * *

She couldn't find any words right away. Her red lips parted for a long moment, as she was immobilized with surprise. The blond woman had a tired expression, yet her vivid green eyes were bright and present. A drip of blood streamed down her forehead, another one from the corner of her mouth. Her face had several bruises, surely caused by the battle and by the soldiers who had captured her after. And yet she had an arrogant and mocking smile, although so very exhausted. A deep, ancient scar, thin and straight, crossed her face from the forehead to under the eye. The old memory of a blade. Her stare was challenging and provoking. The queen could very well tell that she was enjoying the surprise she had provoked.

"_Please, I want to hear more on how you're going to torture me, queen Regina."_ The Savior exhorted her derisively. Her was the hoarse voice of someone with a few cracked ribs and in excruciating pain; before finishing the sentence, a dry cough forced her to turn her head and spit something reddish. It was anger that eventually shook the queen from her still position, after hearing her own name coming from the lips of the enemy.

"_Shut your mouth!"_ She yelled, and struck the Savior in the stomach with her boot. The blond groaned in pain and bended forward as far as her tied hands let her. A violent cough shook her entire body again. Her face was covered with long golden hair for some moments. Regina walked around her in a circle, towering haughtily over Emma's figure, all wrapped in her black, furred cloak. She was looking at the soldier in disgust, yet a strange curiosity was devouring her brain. That in front of her was one of the beings she hated most in the entire world. But never before had she managed to lay her hands on such an important leader as the Savior; it was as she had captured an exotic, rare animal.

Her nervousness had partially faded away: when she spoke, her voice was almost sugary.

"_We have a lot to talk about, my dear... Savior." _A sarcastic laugh arose from her low voice. Regina began again to walk around the Legionnaire in circles, as if she was chatting amiably with herself, sadistically satisfied by the new caged animal she had captured.

"_I must admit, I didn't expect you to be a woman. Impressive."_ She chuckled without joy.

"_And who did you expected me to be, your Majesty? A big muscly man as was your Captain?"_ Gasped the Savior, and a raucous, bloody giggle escaped her lips. She seemed eager to provoke the queen, to awake her rage. Regina turned around suddenly, the small smile disappearing from her mouth with impressive speed. For a moment it seemed like she was going to kick her again; or perhaps to kill her, this time. She stopped herself instead; no, she couldn't let that woman get on her nerves so easily. She was only trying to provoke her. She straightened her back and held her head high. The smile appeared again, now bleaker and much more dangerous.

"_Have fun all you want, soldier. You're not going to enjoy yourself much longer." _She growled. _"You are my prisoner, now. And be certain: you will die my prisoner. I don't care if you're valuable to your king; I won't exchange hostages with him. I'm not interesting in negotiating. Here, you are worth nothing – you're worth less than a fly, you're not anyone's Savior." _A wide cruel grin showed off her teeth.

The woman looked at her from under a cascade of blond hair, her brows furrowed. Her expression serious. _"I've never been anyone's Savior anyway. My name is not the Savior. My name is Emma. Emma Swan. Write that on your commander's grave." _She bit her cracked bottom lip in what could be either a twinge of pain or anger. The blood had dried on her face, and was now scab.

Regina, at that point, wanted to torture her there and immediately. She folded her hands and bent the corners of her mouth. But Emma could clearly see that her black eyes were furious, even behind the stillness of her expression. The queen eventually let out a deep sigh and rolled her eyes theatrically, then turned her back to her prisoner and pretended to be interested in the trembling shadows of the tent – looking here and there, without speaking.

"_So... Emma."_ She pronounced her name as if it were an insult, breaking the silence. _"Tell me one thing. What did your king Leopold hoped to achieve, exactly, by sending you to attack me?"._

Now Emma could see her eyes again. Her tone was calm - cold, almost - yet the way she was staring now had something different than just a moment before; something intense.

The Savior then noticed for the first time in those dark irises that tremendous and dense _thing _that moved at the bottom of the other woman's gaze, as if it was alive, as if it was a fire burning deep down in the queen's mind. That _thing _that seemed so indescribably compact and purplish. That thing that throbbed with hate.

Emma suddenly felt chained by that gaze. A cold shiver raced down her spine. But that purple mist disappeared fro the queen's eyes just as suddenly as it had appeared, in a matter of seconds. Everything returned to black darkness. Emma recovered from what she just saw when Regina's lips disclosed in a wide smile.

"_What's the matter? Don't you have some impertinent answer to give me?"_

It was clear that the Legionnaire failed to completely hide the discomfort that had suddenly struck her.

"_I don't owe you any answers."_ She said dryly. She raised now her bruised head a little more fiercely, feeling compelled to compensate with some sort of display of courage for that previous moment that had taken her completely off guard.

"_Tsk."_ The queen hissed between her teeth, impatiently. _"You won't gain anything by being so stubborn. I already told you that you won't leave my kingdom alive. Don't mistake me for an idiot, you know; I know you're trying to distract me from something."_

She took a step closer to her prisoner. She bent her torso; her long black hair, now loose, fell forward over her shoulders. Regina was now speaking with that kind of deep, melodic voice, a little theatrical, the sound of it almost untruthfully gentle, that Emma already understood to mean she was trying to disguise her impatience. Maybe even some sort of nervousness.

"_Tell me what is it. Where is the Legion planning to attack? They are most certainly already marching by now. Your lovely diversion plan was, how to put it... Well, not very spectacular or long lasting." _She gave a hoarse chuckle. Her face was now closer to Emma's.

"_If you have already decided to kill me anyway, I might as well die without uttering a word."_ Speaking was now a bit more difficult; something inside her chest was burning and scraping, and now that the adrenaline of the battle had dried out, she could feel the pain of all of her the wounds.

"_Well... If you reveal your plan to me, I might decide to spare you"._

"_Please. I'm not an idiot either."_

Regina smiled. _"What I cannot explain, Savior, is why on earth has Leopold decided to sacrifice his best commander in such an absurd way."_ Her bust straightened and she looked at the soldier with an arrogant expression._ "You see, there must really be a very, very important reason."_

At every dragged word, her voice became increasingly hoarse, until it was but a snarl full of hatred.

"_Or perhaps, you're worthless even to your beloved King."_

She watched Emma raise herself from the ground with a huge effort. The soldier's back rubbed against the column until her knees were straightened. Her face frowned, the scar that crossed her eye seemed even deeper. But if she was feeling any sharp pain, the Queen thought, she was good at not showing it. Now that she was standing, she could see the Savior in all of her height; slightly larger shoulders, muscular arms, long blond hair. Their faces were now at the same level. Actually, Emma's was higher than hers; her emerald eyes were proud and firm. She was staring at her in silence, except for the rattling breath that came out of her throat. Regina was both annoyed and amused by such arrogance, by such challenge; no one among her subjects would have ever dared to look at her like that. And as much as she despised from the deepest of her heart the woman that was standing in front of her – for being devoted to her eternal rival, for attacking her kingdom and therefore its Queen, for believing with such passion, as was clear from her prowess and ferocity in combat, in such a wrong cause – she could not deny the pleasure of finally being able to associate, after many years of war, a face to the enemy. The face of the Savior. And to have her in her clutches.

She had spent so much time thirsty for revenge; she had waited so long for a justice that never came, that her spirit had gradually broken, crumbled, and her conscience had become but an empty shell. But not one time, not one, had she doubted of the righteousness of her demands. She never thought she might be on the wrong side. Having Emma – the brave and much feared Savior – there, chained and helpless, made her heart accelerate. It was as if her waiting had finally been rewarded, in some way. She knew, however, that she could not claim victory yet.

"_So this is the Evil Queen everyone talks about."_

Emma's dry voice broke the stream of her thoughts.

"_What?"_ Regina looked at her in amazement. For the first time since she was there, a big joyless smile made its way upon Emma's lips. It sent a nervous feeling through the Queen's back.

"_There are a lot of stories about you in my land, you know."_ The Savior began talking, pulling her gaze off of her face and looking elsewhere. _"Stories about how the war begin. About how you decided to break the peace that our previous kings agreed on, after pouring the blood of countless men and women. And just because you couldn't stand the idea of not being the queen of every damn bit of land. You just couldn't take it, could you?"_

Now she was looking at her right in the eyes. Her green gaze had become gloomy, her face darkened and her features seemed made of iron. A terrible anger shook her jaw. Every word was a spit of hate and venom.

"_About how you have then massacred and burnt entire villages. And made prisoners, enslaved and executed innocent people, orphaned thousands of children, all for your horrible ambition, your fanaticism!" _She couldn't stop herself from almost angrily screaming those last words. She paused, teeth clenched. Her martial composure and self control starting slowly to regain control over her brain.

"_That's why they call you that. The Evil Queen."_

Regina was as still as a statue.

But on her face – and Emma would never forget that – for a moment there was an indescribable expression. Her eyebrows were raised, the corner of her mouth had a slight tremor, Emma was sure it was caused by anger. But something had changed in those dark eyes; a tired and hopeless light, as if afflicted by a heavy memory, was fading, as does the bright fire of a lighthouse far away in a stormy night, when every chance is dead and all that is left is desolation. She seemed so different from the Regina that was there just a moment before - the furious, harsh Regina - that Emma did not dare to speak. What was that expression?

It lasted just a moment, and then it disappeared.

The queen shrugged her shoulders as if she was suddenly cold.

"_You know nothing, soldier, so don't you dare talk to me about what I did or did not do."_ She said slowly, a low growl coming out of her scarlet lips. The inflexible iron queen was back. Yet, her voice sounded somewhat broken. _"My mother never intended to make the peace last. Oh, believe me, my dear, naïve girl. She hated Leopold as much as I do. And Leopold hated her. It was doomed to end, it was all fake, and your king was well aware of that."_

"_I was there!" _Emma shouted as much as her now husky voice allowed her to. She was still grinding her teeth, unleashing the river of resentment towards the woman who was the cause of it all. "_I was just a young girl, when your black soldiers invaded our village."_

She took a deep, long breath, her eyes fixed violently on the queen.

"_You know what they did? They killed my father for refusing to give them all our food stashes. They took my mother and dragged her away. I never saw her again. This is what they did to us. This is what they did to everyone; they came into our lands, they stole, they murdered. And they were all following your orders. Yours. It was you, who ruined so many lives. You selfish woman. You heartless tyrant. You deserve whatever happens to you. I hope the Legion will finally invade your kingdom... I hope they'll destroy you."_

Emma had lost her temper. She was spitting furiously at every sentence that came out of her mouth. The pronounced features of her face appeared to be an austere iron mask. Her big emerald eyes were sending sparks, seemingly wanting to wrap Regina and burn her, annihilate her. It was obvious that she was blaming the Queen for almost every terrible thing that had ever happened to her; a hatred that had been growing for years, years in which they never even met each other. She had been bred in that hate; it was very familiar, almost comforting – one sure rock in the chaotic life's sea of nonsense. She had been taught that there was one person she was supposed to detest, one person she was supposed to fight against. Always.

Regina couldn't suffer her any longer; her presumptuousness, her words were beyond irritating. All she could see before her eyes was a red veil. She couldn't stop throwing herself suddenly on Emma, and hitting her with a slap that made her head turn with a harsh sound.

She then turned her back on the Savior, standing straight, her shoulders shaking with rage underneath her cloak. That outburst of violence did not surprise Emma too much. She had already seen enough of that woman to know she wasn't able to hold her anger. A stormy temperament, indeed. Her cheek was burning red and she could hear a low ringing in her hear.

Emma took a deep breath. She herself had lost her control, but now she could feel it returning – the angry fog in her mind dissipating. She tried to remind herself she couldn't afford to lose her temper, even tough it wasn't an easy task, now that her "great enemy" was in front of her; the enemy she spent most of her adult life preparing to fight. The enemy everyone who surrounded her, during her youth, accused of the most unimaginable cruelty. And now, there she was, right in front of her eyes. Suddenly, all this seemed very surreal.

She looked at the queen as to make sure of the reality of things.

What she saw were two black, slender shoulders, a cascade of hair dark as the moonless night, a head staring down. Regina had taken her gloves off and was rubbing neurotically her hands together. She could hear her heavy breathing; she couldn't see her face, though, but she imagined her eyes were closed in an attempt to appease her own anger. In that moment, she seemed so human.

So mortal, almost fragile.

Suddenly, Emma's mind was troubled with absurd ideas; suddenly, she found this very sharp contrast between what she was witnessing and the stories she had heard all her life (and was certain were truthful). The thing was, she had always imagined to find a monster. She was expecting, even now, for it to come out from behind the mask that was Regina's face. Yet, it didn't.

But she was the Savior, she couldn't afford any doubt. She had a mission.

And yet she couldn't stop herself from talking.

"_I don't understand."_ She said quietly, softly, almost. _"I can't understand, I never could. How could one go so far? Is power really that wonderful and fulfilling?"_

Regina ceased rubbing her hands, but didn't turn around. Instead, she sighed. _"Oh, I wonder why I'm not surprised you don't understand. Maybe you're not as bright as you think you are. There are things that need to be done... And things that need to be sacrificed for a greater good. But you're just a soldier – a puppet in Leopold's hands. You do what he asks you to and stop when he orders you to, isn't that it? You are his faithful guard-dog. But have you ever questioned your master?"_

She slowly half-turned towards Emma, looking at her over her shoulder. Her face was hardened by something, the corners of her mouth bent down. Two black eyes pierced the Savior.

"_Tell me, how many people has the Legion killed?"_ The queen smiled bitterly. She turned completely to face Emma. Her figure was now intimating, so regal and determinate; a slim black shadow against the dying light inside the tent. _"You are a warrior and a leader; you should know how war is. Have you not burnt villages as soon as you crossed the river? Have you not killed innocent peasants? And yet you dare accuse me of … You're a hypocrite. You're pathetic."_  
Regina seemed to enjoy this, somehow. The Savior was so blind, so stupid; she could read in her green eyes, in her hard words, in her accusing stare how she'd been manipulated into hating her. Or, better, trained. Leopold really did a remarkable job with his subjects. Oh, but so did she. And she was going to destroy his perfect soldier, dismantle her piece by piece.  
_"It 's a different thing." _  
_"Really? And how's so?" _  
_"Your army has tortured and slaughtered our kingdom for years. The Legion didn't come here to kill your people."_

"_No? What did you come here for?" _  
_"Justice." _Emma gritted her teeth, her scar remarked by her corrugated face. She coughed in a new wave of pain. But it seemed to get gradually better – or at least, it wasn't worsening – which meant her lungs were not perforated.

"_Justice?"_ The queen repeated in a surprised, theatrically amused tone. She smiled venomously, a perfect row of white teeth showing between scarlet lips. Emma wondered where was the purple, strange cloud she thought she saw minutes earlier; and where was the human being who was hidden behind that black look. This person, the one she was seeing now, pushed her nerves on edge. The queen laughed loudly.

"_Oh, this is amusing." _Regina snarled, furious, as the laugh died in her chest. _"You have no idea what you're talking about. If justice were to be done, I would be on the throne of both kingdoms!"_ She almost yelled, pointing firmly her finger on her own chest. _"And your king would be buried deep underground by now. I did what had to be done. I stopped your barbarian people. I was the only one who dared get her hands dirty - and how does the reign thank me? By calling me tyrant. By calling me Evil Queen!"_ Her breathing was heavy and her face was painted in red.

Emma had managed to seriously infuriate her, now.

"_Leopold is the tyrant, not me." _She hissed. The anger seemed pulsating out of the queen's shrouded black figure, as if it were something tangible. Where was all that rage coming from? Could it be that she was obsessed to the point of being fully committed to this hatred? For it seemed to be a personal crusade for her – very personal.

She approached to her prisoner in a rushing movement, coming so close that Emma could feel her furious breath, hot as drafts from hell, a few inches from her face. Regina stared into her eyes, and a bright look stared back at her in exchange. The whisper that came out of the queen's mouth was barely audible.

"_But you – you don't even know your king. You think he's such a generous and benign ruler … So naive of you. Life is not a fairy tale. You have no idea how he's come to power. You have no idea what he has done to be where he is now."_ She shook her head and distanced her face from Emma's. Her eyes were darked than ever.

"_I know what you have done, though."_ The Savior said firmly, as if it were an accusation.

Regina clicked her tongue loudly. _"You're a loyal pet, Emma. But that's all you are. A bloodhound. You sacrificed yourself for him, but you'll see, he will leave you to die here. I will execute you and he won't lift a finger to stop me."_

"_Shut up!"_ Hissed the Savior, looking grimly at Regina, her eyebrows narrowed. The queen chuckled.

"_A cheeky hound, I might add." _She seemed to be incredibly satisfied by the undeniable anger of her prisoner.

In that moment, one of the guards came into the tent. _"Your Majesty … The carriage is ready."_

Regina didn't even glanced at him, but dismissed him by waving a hand in his direction. He bowed and found his way out immediately. The queen gave Emma a cold smile. _"A bit of time in the freshness of the castle prisons will clear your mind, my dear. And next time we meet, it's not going to be pleasant."_ An expression of pleasure flashed across her features.

She looked at the Savior one last time, then turned around, and followed by a billowing black cloak stepped out of the tent, her back straight and her hands crossed on her stomach. Emma was now alone.

She took a painful, long and deep breath. She leaned her head against the column and looked up.

So, that was the dreadful queen. She was, at the same time, exactly and completely different from what she expected. All that came out of the her mouth was a flood of lies, but she seemed sincerely convinced of all of them.

Emma tried to move her limbs. Her body worked just fine; she was beaten up and was dead tired from the battle, but, apart from the hurting ribs, everything was in order. Good. Beside, being taken prisoner was all part of the plan, anyway.

The plan to kill the queen.

* * *

Soundtrack:  Perfume Movie Soundtrack - The Perfume.

* * *

The royal carriage arrived at the castle before nightfall.

Leaden clouds had piled up in the sky and a strong wind arose from north. A storm was coming. As soon as she stepped out of the carriage, Regina wasted no time and headed inside the fortress, towards it's pointy, tall towers and inside the Great Hall.

The place was dark and cold as always. The gray windows let the night inside; the candles' flames that lit the path were trembling under breaths of air. She looked over her shoulder. The door was shut and the guards were out. She approached the throne, with quick and decisive steps, the long dress dragged on the red carpet as if it was a pair of black wings. The queen stood right in front of the seat. There had to be an opening, somewhere, that was letting the wind enter the hall, because she could hear a sinister howl in the room; now a puff on the high ceiling, now a stifled sob along the walls. She took one glove off and put her hand between the jaws of a lion carved in the throne's armrest. She then pulled the small metal lever that was hidden inside of it, and activated the mechanism. A sharp click was heard; then, the sound of stone sliding against marble floor.

The throne moved heavily forward, leaving in its place a dark hole in the floor. Regina took a torch from one of the candles, and lit up the stairs that went down the opening. She couldn't see their bottom; the stairs climbed down, in a spiral, into the bowels of the earth. She glanced once more towards the door, back in the hall, with suspicion. She was alone. Only then, she began descending into the cold hole on the room's floor.

There was a heavy and damp stench that filled her lungs, the moment when the throne returned to its place, plugging the entrance above her head. The flame in her hand illuminated the steps as far as just a couple of meters. She walked cautiously, followed by her dress, as a trail of her steps. At each step the air was getting colder and the shadows increasingly dense; the endless stairs gradually got lost in the dark, it seemed that the walls were coming closer to each other and the tunnel narrowed more and more. It had been a long time since she visited the secret chambers. A very long time. A shiver ran down her back, making the hair on her arms stand up. She was far from loving that place; yet for many years it had been her lair, her safe and quiet spot, a room filled only with her ideas. Perhaps the only place in the world where she could stop being the queen, for there was no one watching her – and, also, the only place where she could be the monster that many accused her of being (and which, she thought, she ended up becoming), without having to face the look of horror in everyone else's eyes. And even a place where she could be a child again, if she wanted, without anyone there to crush her dreams.

She gave a sad smile to the dark. Is was pathetic. But it was how it was; sometimes, a heavy and sudden anxiety pressed on her chest, and some long-repressed demon began scratching its way out from inside her. This demon had different forms: however, it often came to her disguised as remorse. Not remorse for any action in particular, or because she was feeling guilty about something she had done. No. It was remorse for having chosen a path in her life, that, deep down, she didn't want to go through.

However, this time, she was headed to the secret chambers because she couldn't contain her anger.

She finally stepped on a landing, a massive double-door in front of her. When she opened it, she found herself in the familiar, huge room with a high ceiling. As she entered, the torches on the walls lit simultaneously and spontaneously with a miraculous white fire. In the exact center of the room was a large silver tub, its radius at least a couple of meters.

Regina looked around her for some moments. Piled up against the walls, there were all her books and flasks with strange colored liquids in them. Even some containers with little bodies of creatures of an unknown origin.

She took a lock of her long dark hair in her hand, and begin to nervously pass it through her fingers. Her eyes were light-less. Red lips stretched in an absorbed expression. She never thought she would go back, down there, because of a Legionnaire. She couldn't get out of her mind that first encounter on the battlefield. That arrogant, obnoxious face. Her Captain's humiliating defeat. But what was troubling her above everything else, was the fact that she had seen for the first time that certainty, that unfailing hope in the eyes of her enemy – that were the green eyes of Emma Swan. She had known then that the Legion was sure of her eventual defeat. The Legion was sure that her kingdom would soon come to an end. And everything she had worked for all those years ... She clenched her fists until her nails were stabbing her flesh. She was so furious, bitter tears blurred her view. That woman … That woman invaded her kingdom with such ease. She had defeated her best men, and had been captured merely because Regina had had a much large number of soldiers. She was sure of one thing, though: there was some other, hidden plan incubating and preparing to take her by surprise. All that had happened in the past day was just a diversion. And she became even more furious for the fact that she wasn't able to figure out what was that, that they were actually plotting. Oh, was she now going to be outsmarted too?

She put both her hands over her closed eyes. Her body was trembling with anger, completely out of her control. She kept seeing, in her mind, the Savior's confident grin. _You heartless tyrant. I hope the Legion will destroy you._ She suddenly flung herself towards one of the shelves and threw angrily on the ground the first bulb her hands could reach. It shattered on the floor into a thousand pieces. She screamed with all the air she had in her lungs. No one could hear her, down there. She took a second bulb in her hand and squeezed it until it broke, until she felt a piece of glass thrust into her palm. She opened her hand and let the fragments fall on the ground. A trickle of blood dripped on the marble floor. She just stared at it.

She kept telling herself she couldn't lose now. The Savior had no idea about what justice was. _She _was the one who knew. She was the one who had suffered the greatest wrongs. She was the one who had suffered most of all. Others had created the "tyrant" she now was, she had not created it by her own will. It was time everyone paid for their mistakes. For if she couldn't get this – if she couldn't restore the balance of things by inflicting a penalty equal in measure to those that had been forced to endure – then, indeed, what was the point of the world?

She approached the large tub, holding the bloody palm upwards. She sat on its edge and looked inside it. It was filled with mercury. Her own distorted reflection was staring at her from the liquid surface. She decided in that moment that Emma Swan was going to be the first to pay. The first of a long list.

She turned her palm down and poured her blood on the mercury. Suddenly, the white light in the room started flickering and everything went intermittently dark. It was as if the earth had a jolt. From silver, the contents of the tank began to turn into black, as if someone had poured ink in it, starting from the point where her red liquid was dropped. Then the black thing began to boil. A vortex formed in its center. Wrathful waves, ever higher, were slamming against the edges. The black liquid flow into one single point, becoming more and more dense; then it began floating, drop by drop, mid-air above the tub. The drops joined together to form the shape of a dark, huge human face, suspended above the surface. Regina was looking at it, her expression still and cold – but her eyes had in them a sad resignation.

"_Mirror, mirror … "_ She whispered tiredly.

"_**Here I am."** _Replied a deep, metallic voice, that made the blood froze inside the queen's veins. The huge face moved its black lips.

She tried to inhale deeply. When she spoke, her voice was deprived of its usual confidence.

"_The enemy invaded us, mirror. Their leader is a soldier named... Emma Swan."_

She leaned over the edge of the tub, her long hair falling forward and covering her face as curtains. She dunked her cut hand completely into the black substance. It was so cold. She gazed back at the huge face; it was expressionless as always. Still, there was something terrible in that look, something soul-drilling.

_"Tell me, mirror, what do you know about her?"_

A long silence followed her question. Not a single feature of the face moved.

Then, the slow, abyssal voice delivered its verdict.

"**Something dark is coming."**

* * *

The army started marching after the royal carriage's departure.  
When they arrived at the castle, it was already the middle of the night. Emma had been thrown in a vehicle, bound and gagged, closed in a sort of metal cage; it had been a long journey through the mud. It started raining and the wheels of the carriage, passing through puddles, splashed water on her face and on her hair. Once they arrived, she was placed in a cell inside a building just outside the walls of the palace.  
All she had to do now, was to wait. She had no idea how much time had passed; she could hear some soldiers talking, some occasional footsteps, some occasional wheels. The moon was getting higher and brighter.  
Until she heard steps entering the short hallway that led to her room.  
_"Psst! Emma! " _She heard someone whisper.  
Emma jumped on her feet, her hands tied behind her back and chained to the wall. _"Here!" _She replied in the same tone.  
She heard footsteps approaching quickly; from behind bars, a familiar face made its appearance.

He was wearing the black armor of the queen's soldiers, but under the light of the torches and under his helmet, she could recognize the face of her fellow Legionnaire. She smiled, relieved, and he returned her smile. _"Finally. I was starting to worry you were going to leave me here, Graham."_

"_Could I ever leave my captain?"_  
It was time to go.


End file.
